


Her Hand in His

by Arterius_Rising



Series: Horde are Red, Alliance are Blue [1]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Foreplay, I Wish This Was Canon, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Love, Romance, Sexual Content, Tasteful Sex, Warchief, magic misuse... heh, peacechief, the best green orc, these two are too precious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-03 05:45:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16320221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arterius_Rising/pseuds/Arterius_Rising
Summary: One-shot…He never really noticed how small her hands were, not when her presence left him breathless, and her power had the people in awe. Jaina Proudmoore, daughter of an Admiral, mage, leader and… his love…After an attempt on her life, Thrall has to hold himself back from teleporting to Theramore himself, and demanding to see her. She comes to him, weary but unharmed, before he can shatter the tentative truce between their people.





	Her Hand in His

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: These two are who first got me into Warcraft. Well, them and Durotan’s story. I’ve wanted to do a small piece for them for years, but never… had the guts? But here goes nothing. 
> 
> Sadly, this isn’t canon. 
> 
> *Cries salty tears*

_There had been an attempt on her life._

Thrall felt the elements rage in echo to his tumult emotions.

He paced so much, Garona Halforcen expected him to wear a line in the floor of his private chambers. She watched him from the corner of the room, arms crossed over armour as dark as the night. The door was closed, and barred to all others until he heard news.

“Warchief-” Garona began, in her husky voice.

Thrall didn’t miss a step. “Do not push me, Garona. Not right now.”

She growled, low in her throat. Or perhaps it had been a grunt. Thrall didn’t care to figure it out. His mind whirled around the possibilities of what might have happened to Jaina; was she lying in a bed, cold to the touch and barely clinging on to life?

He growled himself, unable to stand the thought.

He should have been there. He should have done something, _prevented_ it. These thoughts ate at him, even when he knew he could have done little else. Jaina was her own woman, and he could not place armed guards; armed _orcs_ , in the walls of her tower.

“Thrall,” his personal bodyguard, and assassin tried again.

He whirled on her. “What? I told you-”

She pushed herself from the wall, arms unfurling from her chest. “You have chosen this woman as your mate. Have faith in her.”

His teeth gnashed, and he all but stayed his hands from ripping at his braids. Instead of answering, he went back to pacing. It was the only thing which kept him from finding the nearest mage, and teleporting himself to her side. Tentative truce or not, Thrall would not sit and do nothing. Not when she might need him.

When he felt the tingle of magic on his skin, erecting the hairs on the back of his neck, his head snapped to the floor. Her runes appeared before she did, and he caught his breath harshly. A split second felt like a century, and then she was there, standing unharmed to the first glance of his eye.

She smiled when she laid eyes upon him, though her expression was strained. Exhaustion was evident in the dark smudges below her eyes, and the tense line of her slim shoulders. Thrall didn’t think, he strode over to her in a few of his long strides, and collected her against him.

“Thrall,” she hummed, welcoming him.

Unable to trust his voice, he inhaled deep at the junction of her neck, her hair skittering away from his large nostrils. He dragged his tusks along the bare skin there, an instinct from his bloodline. Humans had influenced his upbringing, but he could not forget he was orc. Jaina brought her hands up, and rubbed at his back. She comforted him, when it should have been him doing the reassuring.

He loved this woman.

“I was so worried,” he admitted, drawing back to take her face between his massive hands. His gaze briefly shot to the doorway, where Garona had made herself scarce. She would not be far, however. Just out of sight.

She brought a finger to his lips, which stilled him. “I… don’t wish to talk about it, not just yet.” He recognised the expression she wore, the sultry haze. “I don’t want to talk at all. I just want to… feel.”

To forget, he understood.

Thrall was there to serve his mate, and so he questioned her no more. Not for the meantime, until she was ready. Lips sealing over hers in a scorching kiss, he backed her up towards his furs. His large, yet nimble fingers worked on the clasps of her shoulder guards while her own, much smaller hands untied his breeches.

Breaking apart long enough that he could lift his loose shirt over his head, Thrall noted her lips were suitably pinkened by their feverish kisses. He brought a thumb to the plump lower one, and drew his callus fingertip over her soft skin. With the candlelight behind her, she looked as if she had flames in her golden hair.

Her hands flared out against his chest, her fingers running through the course, dark hair which matted along the planes of his torso. He shivered, and drew her to him with a hand at the small of her back. With his other hand, he cupped her face and kissed her with reverence.

When she grasped him, her hand having delved beneath the band of his breeches, Thrall groaned against her lips. He wanted the reassurance of their bodies joined together; the undeniable fact that she was alive.

He haltered. “You aren’t hurt, are you? I don’t-”

“Thrall,” she shushed him, not unkindly. “I am unharmed.” Jaina cupped his face, and he tilted into the gesture for an instant.

Her delicate touch barely stretched the length of his jaw. Thrall took her hand in his, and pressed his lips to her palm. She tittered lightly, as his breath and tucks tickled the sensitive flesh.

With the practiced ease of a lover, he undid the bindings of her robes. The chest piece fell first, then her long skirt followed. It billowed around her feet as his weathered palm dragged over her ample flesh. When she was better able to think, as he undid his own breeches, her fingers clicked and her their clothes vanished from the dusty floor, only to reappear on the chair by the fire.

Eyes blackened, and heart hammering as if the winds had captured it, he took her by the waist and lifted her high. His Jaina wasn’t a glass flower, but his strength was a concern and so Thrall measured each movement he made with her in his arms.

When she wrapped her legs around him, trapping his girth between their heated bodies, he groaned and prayed to the spirits for patience. While their own spirits were matched, their anatomy took some convincing. He would rather crush his own hand with Doomhammer than cause her harm.

Turning with her, as she took his lips with her own, Thrall deposited her onto his furs. Knee pressed into the bunk, he rose above her for a brief moment, taking her in. He took a deep breath, and drew his gaze up her form. Jaina was not a shy woman, and did not cover herself from his sight.

Somehow, beyond Thrall’s understanding, she found him equally attractive. His long braids came to rest on either side of her head as he leant down, and cupped the back of her neck to bring her mouth to his hungry teeth and tongue. All the while his lips worked on hers, did his hand slip down her body as she laid below him. Careful to hold his weight away, Thrall brought his fingers over the mound of her womanhood and stroked.

Jaina levered her leg, giving him further access to her folds. Each moan she offered up into their open mouthed kiss went straight to his groin. He panted with the need to seal their bond, to have his worries vanquished, but Thrall continued to prepare her. Her fingers ran through the long hair down his back, pulling lightly as the roots.

A messenger - spirits, even his councillors; Saurfang himself could have banged on the door, alerting him that Orgrimmar was on fire, and Thrall did not think he could remove himself from her.

She took him in hand suddenly, and used a subtle frost spell as her thumb traced the tip of him. Thrall’s breath gutted out, and he gripped the furs so tightly he feared he would rip them.

“Jaina,” he cautioned, his voice a cough.

“I’m ready,” she breathed into his mouth, arm drawn around his neck to keep him close.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he murmured into her ear. As his finger breached her, Jaina arched and gasped. When she was ready, Thrall stretched her with two of his thick fingers, and watched her through hooded eyes as she writhed beneath him.

He could have quite happily watched her come undone with his touch alone, but he was aware of what it would have taken out of her to have one of her own people attempt an assassination. So Thrall rolled, taking her with him, till she was sat with her legs spread over his hips. The slimmest place on his body, and yet it was still a spread for her.

He encircled her hips, as she guided his girth to her core. Thrall thought his eyes would roll back in his head as his tip sunk into her warmth. Their fit was tight, but with enough stimulus, it was enjoyable for both. On their first night, Thrall had been terrified in all honesty, but Jaina had put him at ease. As she so often did. He did not regret them making it work; not one bit as he felt him surround his member.

A choked groaned left him, accompanied by her gasp as he tilted up into her. She squeezed her eyes shut, and rested her palms over his chest. With shallow thrusts at first, he gauged her reaction, and was pleased when she met him in turn. She rose on her knees, sliding him almost all the way out, before meeting his upwards thrust as she brought herself back down.

He did not care if the guards posted outside the door heard them. Thrall was too far gone, and far too relieved to have her in his arms; alive and unharmed. He did not know what he would do should anything happen to her, and could not even dwell on it.

Grasping the back of her head, Thrall brought her down for a sloppy kiss, before he slipped into orcish; murmuring words to lavish her, and at the sound of his grunted voice, praising her, Jaina shattered.

An expression of exquisite bliss took hold of her features, and she stilled, shuddering above him. Her fingers dug into his chest, and her blunt fingernails on his hide only heightened his senses.

“Oh, Thrall.” She pressed an open mouthed kiss to his throat, and pinched one of his nipples. The sharp feel of it, along with her blunt teeth sent him over the edge.

Thrall threw his head and roared, as he pumped into her. In control of himself enough that he held himself back somewhat. Jaina watched him, as he had done her. He felt bare to her, and yet he didn’t feel vulnerable. He trusted her. Above all else.

Both sated, Thrall gathered her against his chest. She curled into him, eagerly laying herself over him, as he tucked her head below his jaw. He could not distinguish between his heartbeat and hers. Her breathing evened out, as he brushed his palm over her hair; the golden locks shifting through his green fingers.

“Jaina,” his low voice breached the near silence, broken only by the crackle of embers and their breaths.

She tilted her head, to look into his eyes. Showing she was listening.

“I am glad you are unharmed,” his fingers stilled on the back of her head, and his gaze soaked in her features. Her nose crinkled at his sentiment, and she lifted herself up to press her lips to his. As she drew away, Jaina planted a purposeful kiss on his tusk. He rumbled his surprise, and she offered him a smile as she settled back into the crook of his neck.

The fire died down, as they laid in each other’s arms. He did not intend to let her leave, and hoped she would stay for more than one evening. As she dazed, Jaina ran her fingers through the rough hair on his chest. He watched her movements, and eventually brought his hand to rest on hers. She stilled, and allowed him to lift her hand up, his thumb rubbing circles into her palm.

“You have tiny hands,” he found himself saying.

She huffed against his neck. “I am not delicate.”

“No,” he smiled, she was feisty when she wanted to be. “But you are small. Compared to me.” He pushed his hand against hers, till they rested palm to palm. Her fingers came nowhere near to the ends of his, and it fascinated him.

She watched their hands for a moment, before nuzzling into his neck. He brought their hands down, still entwined, as a thought from her snuffed the dying fire out. They were plummeted into darkness, the only light from a small beam of moonlight which reached the edge of the room.

He sighed in contentment, knowing for a short time that she was in his arms, and none of the things which deemed to break them apart could reach them. Thrall knew, with her hand in his, he might just withstand the mantle of Warchief; but one who fought for peace.

 


End file.
